


48 hours

by Lady_Talla_Doe



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Crossdressing Kink, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, First Kiss, Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Safewords, Sexual Coercion, Verbal Humiliation, amnesia fancy buys his services, amnesia turin sells himself, first time prostitution, technically canon compliant, they're about to blow through a lot of firsts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2020-12-28 06:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21132542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Talla_Doe/pseuds/Lady_Talla_Doe
Summary: while they're all still convinced they're other people, Turin sells his body to a supposed stranger, Fancy, in return for his depts cleared. 48 hours, all of which Turin will be available only to Fancy.To have however he pleases.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> man s5 is making me horny. I can't believe I get lusciously confident Fancy, AND hobo drug dealer Turin.  
I'M ONLY ON EPISODE THREE i hope it keeps this level of horny up.  
EDIT: I've finished s5

* * *

* * *

The Killjoy looked down at him, laughing softly.

“You don’t have to do this,” he tilted Turin’s jaw up with his fingertips. “But if you want that joy…” black brows went up. _Better get to work_, the look said silently.

He wanted to curse; never had he allowed things to get this _desperate_. But his stash had been stolen, all his stuffed jacked by some asshole with less to lose then him. He didn’t have anything else to _offer_. Biting his tongue to keep the acidic retort behind his teeth, Turin shuffled closer, and began undoing the Killjoy’s belt.

It was degrading, having to resort to _this_, and at his age. The killjoy seemed to be without any shame; they weren’t more then ten feet from the mouth of the alley, but here he was with Turin on his knees in broad daylight, holding the promise of joy over his head to get what he wanted. The hand resting on the back of his head stroked slowly through his hair, the killjoy’s hot gaze focused intently on his face.

Turin ducked his head, knocking the man’s hand away. He felt each tooth of the zipper pulling down like it was the tick of a clock, counting down the last moments to his humiliation.

_ Two hundred joy for five minutes. _ He told himself again, but his heart seemed to beating in his throat as he slowly tugged his…_client’s_ cock out. He was already hard, no doubt getting off on Turin’s humiliation.

He couldn’t remember meeting him before, but there was something, just on the tip of his brain about how all of this would be so _satisfying_ to the man.

“Don’t got all day.” The man said, an edge of impatience in his voice. His hand tightened warningly in Turin’s hair, pressing him forward. He resisted for a moment, then relaxed, letting him push his face against his cock.

It smeared on his cheek, and the killjoy made a noise of irritation. Turin felt him grab his jaw, pulling carefully so he would open his mouth. A dry thumb rubbed against his bottom lip.

He felt himself flushing under the killjoy’s intense gaze.

“From this angle, you’re actually quite pretty…” it was said softly, almost like an afterthought. He pressed his thumb between Turin’s lips, running it over his teeth. “I want to see what you look like with my cock in your mouth. Now, Turin.”

Why was he breathing so fast? The self confidence of the man had him shifting his weight, setting his hands lightly- almost questioningly- against the man’s thighs. The killjoy released Turin’s face to hold the base of his cock, apply only a little bit of force to the back of his head to get him to lean forward. His cockhead pressed against Turin’s lips, a crude imitation of a kiss, then the Killjoy tilted his hips and pushed roughly into his mouth.

Turin choked immediately, eyes tearing up as his head was forced down. Thick and hot, the killjoy filled his mouth, and after pulling back enough to breath- his heart was _racing_, what the hells was that about?- Turin took control back, bobbing his head awkwardly to take in as much as he could handle.

Blowjobs were like riding a bike, right? If he gave it a moment or two, it would come back to him.

But the killjoy – _Fancy, _ the name rose up through the haze in his mind- Fancy didn’t have patience for that. He twisted Turin’s hair in his fingers, and forced him to take his cock to the root.

Fancy groaned, low enough to stay between them, as Turin choked. There was drool running down his chin, and his eyes were wet; yet as he clutched his legs, tilting his head to take the bastard’s cock more comfortably, Turin was hard in his rain-wet jeans.

“Knew you’d look good like this,” Fancy praised. “on your knees like a good little sexer, mouth open. You’re drooling for it,” he finished with a hiss, taking control again and snapping his hips forward. Turin clutched at his legs, hands shaking.

Why did this feel so _intense?_ Like they had a history, had shit to solve between them. Like he felt like this was Fancy’s _due_?

His jaw ached from holding his mouth open, and he couldn’t get the breath to actually suck on his cock. But the handsome killjoy didn’t seem to mind. He held him by the hair, and side of his jaw, pitoning his erection into Turin’s mouth.

Turin moaned brokenly at the rough treatment, heart beating so fast, flushed under the intensity in Fancy’s dark eyes. Never once did he look away, and he never gave Turin the opportunity to.

“F-fuck,” Fancy gasped, and Turin tasted cum, clutched at his pants and finally closed his eyes as he swallowed around him. The killjoy groaned in appreciation, fucking twice into Turin’s throat, before pulling him off him by the hair.

They were both breathing raggedly, and Fancy still had a grip on Turin’s hair. He pulled his head back with more care then a moment before.

Wordlessly, he traced Turin’s bruised lips, and without thinking about it, Turin opened his mouth, let Fancy put his fingers farther. Sucked on them as the Killjoy watched raptly.

“I’ll pay who you’re running from,” Fancy said into the silence.

Turin couldn’t answer with his mouth full, but snorted to himself. This killjoy had no idea what he owed.

“Your depts settled. Sell me a night.”

Turin pulled away, twisting his face from Fancy. His knees were beginning to ache from the position. Fancy’s wet fingers slid over his cheek.

“I owe a lot,” Turin’s voice was rough, and he almost regretted speaking.

“Fine. Sell me two nights.”

The absolute bastard. He bit his lips, running the idea through his head.

_I don’t hate it_.

“Well—” started Fancy, impatient.

“Shut up, I’m thinking.” Turin snapped. Surprisingly, the killjoy listened.

_What do I have to loose?_

“Alright. Two nights.”

“Forty eight hours.” Fancy countered. Turin looked up at him, and felt his heart speed up. The intensity of this strange killjoy's gaze hadn't lessened. _He wants to send that much joy, just on me._ Turin was tempted to turn it down.

Turin finally dropped his hands from the killjoy’s thighs, sitting back on his heels and wiping a hand over his mouth.

“Fine. Forty eight hours.”


	2. hour 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turin goes to see to his dept to Fancy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> expanding this into several chapters. these will get more explicit as they go on

They didn’t go from the alley to Fancy’s ship. As it turned out, he had business to attend to – business that had brought him to Old Town in the first place- but the Killjoy had left Turin with instructions to meet him the next evening, and to bring an overnight bag.

Turin felt the magnitude of what he’d agreed to, as he stood at the foot of the ship’s ramp, a bag over his shoulder. He hadn’t really known what he was suppose to bring for an overnight trip of being someone’s paid for sexer, so he’d settles on another change of clothes, and a comb.

The ship was flashy, hull dark and sleek. It was big enough to be a decent home for a single person, but small for a permanent living space of more then that. Turin was liking the odds of it being only Fancy onboard. The ramp had been lowered when he’d arrived ten minutes ago, but Turin had lingered outside, unsure of his welcome.

“Beautiful, isn’t she.” Said a voice from behind him.

He supressed his startle reflex, and gave it a three count before turning around to nod.

“She certainly is. Suddenly, it’s looking a lot more like you can keep up your end of this…._agreement_.”

The Killjoy smirked. “Your dept was settled last night. Come on,” he nodded his head towards the ramp. “She’s more beautiful on the inside.”

Turin shifted his bag, looking around once more, and followed the Killjoy up the ramp and into his ship, a heavy knot in his stomach. _No turning back now_.

It wasn’t necessarily the sex that made him uneasy. It was the strange sense that he _knew_ this man, although from what he gathered, this _Fancy Lee_ – what sort of name was _fancy_?- was from Interstellar RAC, and this was his first time visiting the Quad. Turin scowled. There was a lot of that going around, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. All these new faces made him uneasy.

But without Fancy’s help, he would be very dead right now, and at the end of it sex was sex. Sure, he didn’t do a whole lot of catching, but it wasn’t like it was his first time. _I’m not nervous_, he told himself, as he unslung his bag, and set it down on the floor of the cargo hold. _There’s no reason to be_.

Fancy waited for the ramp to raise, the ship’s air processors hissing as it recompressed. Turin shifted awkwardly, wanting to get a look around but also not knowing how this was supposed to play out. He eyed the killjoy, using his turned back to take a long, proper look at him.

Whatever else he was, Fancy wasn’t a slouch, his every movement spoke to a fitness level above Turin’s. He stood with a relaxed sort of attention Turin saw in former soldiers, aware in an idle fashion of his surroundings without being on guard. His hair was long, only partially down; the black strands were glossy, falling attractively over his shoulders, and those shoulders filled out his jacket without straining the material. He dressed smartly, covered up with flexible leather- his jacket could turn a blade, was Turin’s guess.

Right now, Fancy was flicking open the ties of his jacket, turning to Turin and giving him a once over that started on his feet, and ended at his eyes. Turin shifted his weight, arching both brows at him when the man shrugged.

“Really?”

Fancy ignored his comment.

“Tell me any rules you have. If you think it’s necessary, a safeword as well.”

It ticked him off that he was being so matter of fact like this. _Think of the not bleeding to death in an alley_, Turin reminded himself, and shoved his pride back down.

“No blood, no injuries. You can mark me, but it best be healed before I leave this ship. I don’t like being restrained,” he paused, and held a hand up to keep Fancy from interrupting. “I know you paid your money, and some part of me is grateful, but I don’t think it’s grateful enough to- to do that.” He finished lamely, looking away.

The Killjoy made a neutral noise.

“Do you like your hair touched?” He asked, stepping slowly closer.

Unease crawled up in Turin’s stomach, but again he pushed it down.

“Don’t go _yanking_ on it, but, yeah, who doesn’t like a little bit- of, of _roughness_. I’m not fragile, I just don’t get off on pain.” he found himself flushing under Fancy’s sharp gaze, shifted again as Fancy stepped into his personal space. Turin eyed the taller man with badly concealed unease.

“You can backout, at any point.” Fancy offered suddenly. His voice was even, almost friendly, but he looked down at Turin like a man looked at a meal- Turin forced his shoulders to relax, hands to uncurl.

“Potato.”

The Killjoy blinked.

“…What?” Fancy asked, and it was satisfying to trip him up. Turin shrugged.

“The safeword. I choose potato.” _Stop asking me if I’m down for this_. His pride wasn’t so strong that he wouldn’t walk away, damn the consequences, if this prick didn’t stop giving him chances. It was making him doubt his motives over the whole thing.

Fancy considered it, and then nodded. “It’ll work.”

He stepped closer, hand sliding up Turin’s arm. Turin watched Fancy’s tidy nails dig into the sleeve of his shirt, slowly pushing it up his forearm. In the suddenly ringing silence, he could practically taste his own heartbeat.

It took a lot of effort not to pull away from the slow, exploratory touch; the energy coming off the killjoy was different then their first encounter. Fancy wasn’t smug, not smirking down at him as he enjoyed Turin’s humiliation. No, they were somewhere private, the ship locked. There were no eyes on them here.

This was a different type of power, and it had nothing to do with Fancy’s ability to command Turin to his knees.

His composure broke like a twig under the heat in Fancy’s dark eyes.

“Now- now what is it you’re planning, because I’m – I,” Turin swallowed thickly, surprised to find his face felt hot. _We’re not doing anything, you fool._ He cursed himself, gaze skittering away across the deck like a nervous creature every time he tried to look Fancy in the face.

“You’ve never been paid for this before,” it wasn’t a question, since Fancy already knew that. The first curls of amusement coloured the killjoy’s voice, like wisps of smoke in a bright room. Turin felt both chilled, and too hot, sweat rising on his spine to slide slowly across his skin.

Fancy stepped in close, hand sliding possessively across Turin’s clothed hip, curling around the small to pull their bodies flush. Turin’s heart lurched up into his throat, beating hard as the simply contact sent warmth down his body. The Killjoy threaded a hand in Turin’s hair, the knowing little smirk on the edges of his lips _infuriating_, but he kissed Turin slow and filthy before he could get the sense to be annoyed by it.

The killjoy could kiss.

He opened Turin’s mouth with his, cradled his head back at the perfect angle to suck on his lip, run his teeth over it until it was warm and flushed from the attention. They breathed each other’s hot air, and Turin was clutching at his jacket before he realized it, hands restless and tugging. Fancy’s thigh was between his knees, rubbing in slow circles against Turin’s erection.

The ship had seemed almost cold before, recycled air smelling faintly of metal. But now it was hot, almost too hot- the firm, knowing stroke of Fancy’s hands over his clothes was driving good sense from his head. The killjoy untucked Turin’s shirt as his tongue explored Turin’s mouth, swallowing his noises of startled pleasure.

There were callouses on Fancy’s palms. _Weapon callouses_, Turin’s mind supplied. They scratched perfectly across his skin as Fancy slid his hands under Turin’s shirt, pushing the fabric up so it bunched up under his black leather vest. His relentless motions dragged up the front of Turin’s shirt, so the open zipper of Fancy’s jacket pressed cold against the skin of his stomach. Turin hissed into the kiss, tugging Fancy’s mouth down to a better angle.

When had he put his hands in Fancy’s hair? It was smooth and soft, thick between his fingers, and Turin used it to keep Fancy’s mouth on his. It fell over his wrists like cold silk, and tickled against the hair on his arms.

The killjoy was warm, the thin material of his black t-shirt doing nothing to conceal the hard-muscled body underneath it. Turin pressed himself forward, sealing their bodies close from mouth to hips. His reluctance was gone, lost in the primal animal need to get as much skin-to-skin contact as he could manage.

Fancy pulled back, holding Turin back so there was air between their faces. His mouth was wet, eyes blown wide with arousal as he raked them over Turin’s face.

The killjoy dropped his hands, catching Turin’s belt and tugging on it once.

_Oh fuck yes._ Not that he didn’t like a good snog as much as the next man, but if it was time to finally loose the pants, he was game. Turin tugged his belt open in short, impatient yanks, hissing when Fancy’s hand slid into the front of his jeans and wrapped around his cock. His grip was just the right side of too tight, hot and insistent, and when he rubbed his thumb across the head, Turin groaned low and pleased.

Then Fancy stepped backwards, taking his hand and his mouth, and his impossibly toned stomach with it’s ridiculously sexy t shirt with him, and raked his eyes up the disheveled mess he’d made of Turin. 

“Take off your pants.”


	3. hour 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they get down to business.

* * *

* * *

Turin toed off his boots, watching Fancy’s reaction from behind the curtain of his bangs as he shoved his jeans down, stripping himself in rough quick movements. Fancy stood back, keeping his hands to himself although he watched hungrily for every inch of skin Turin revealed. The Killjoy hand his hands clenched on the edge of the tactical crate behind him, muscles in his forearms tight as if he was physically restraining himself from touching.

Fancy didn’t reach out for him, or instruct him in anyway- so once Turin’s pants were tossed in a rumpled heap to the side of his boots, he stroked himself quickly, unable to resist. Fancy’s eyes followed to motion like a hawk, and he stepped closer, not touching Turin, just crowding him back until he bumped against another crate. Fancy’s hands went to the edge of it, bracketing Turin’s hips without touching him.

“Keep going,” the killjoy instructed softly. “I want to watch.”

There wasn’t a lot of room between them, their knees brushing as Fancy leaned over him, forcing Turin slump back against the crate, hips canted forward into his own hand as his breath hitched. There was nowhere to look but Fancy’s face, watch the killjoy watch his hand as Turin stroked himself. His heart hammered, breath coming fast. This isn’t what he’d imagined when he’d agreed to this. This level of arousal- interest in _him_, in Turin’s pleasure- wasn’t at all- _ fuck_. Turin stopped trying to think, and settled on watching the killjoy back.

Fancy’s hair had slipped from behind his ear, a long dark strand caught on his shoulder and curving in a line by his jaw. His lips were wet from their kisses, bruising in an enticing way- this close, Turin could practically count his lashes, and the _look_ Fancy gave him when he caught Turin looking, caught him eyeing his face- Turin flushed full to his hairline at the small smirk the killjoy gave him.

Still, he didn’t touch him, and the only sounds were Turin’s hand over his own weeping cock, and Turin’s fast, stuttering breathing. Turin was close, impossibly aroused by the strange treatment. He could feel Fancy’s breath fanning out over his neck, the heat of him like a touch hovering just out of range; pleasure crawled up his spine, pooling lower until he crossed the threshold abruptly, biting down on his noise of pleasure as he came.

Cum splattered his bare abdomen, shirt pushed up by Fancy’s restless hands, and Turin let his head drop, shoulders tense as he fucked his fist through it, chasing the last few drops of pleasure before dropping boneless to sit on the edge of his crate.

The Killjoy leaned in and caught his mouth in a harsh kiss, crowding him now; Turin clutched his shirt front, letting Fancy’s tongue into his mouth without and struggle or protest, basking in the warmth of him. he was warm, skin humming, tension bleeding away in the wake of his orgasm, but Fancy was all relentless energy and possessive touches; he pushed between his bare legs, hand in Turin’s hair, framing his face as he kissed the smaller man until he was panting for breath.

There was no talking; Fancy simply hooked his hands under Turin’s thighs, and hoisted him up, ignoring Turin’s startled swearing.

Turin wrapped his legs around the killjoy’s waist, one arm hooked around his neck, head back as Fancy kissed along the exposed side of his neck. Fuck, it had _never_ been like this. The man was relentless, seemingly with endless energy. Turin could feel his muscles bunch, strain under his clothes as he carried him through the ship, but Fancy never stopped kissing him. He walked them through the narrow hallways of the ship, until he reached a door. The door he paused opened at Fancy’s prompt, and Turin was placed down again- on the edge of a sink. Fancy’s hands were hot on his knees, stroking his skin slowly.

Turin twisted, taking in the small space. A wall-mounted metal toilet, the waist high sink, and in the corner, a glass sided shower stall. The room was a uniform grey-black, with metal fixtures.

“I’m not saying you stink,” Fancy explained, as he stepped back, stripping methodically. His clothing went into a careless pile, which seemed out of character for what he’d seen of him. “I’m saying I want you to smell like _me_.”

And with that possessive declaration, Fancy took hold of the bottom of Turin’s shirt, and stripped it from him, palm flat on his stomach. It smeared the cum on his skin, and for a moment Turin thought Fancy was going to lick it from his hand. His face flamed at the thought.

This was very different then he’d thought it was going to be. He’d expected to simply being fucked, probably a couple of times, and then kicked off the ship. This heated exchange- _kisses_, Fancy’s mouth actually on his- was so much more intense. It didn’t even occur to him to say no to the killjoy, to ask to bathe alone- he was placed back on his feet, all these needless points of physical contact, Fancy staring at his bare skin as he backed him into the shower stall.

Turin hissed at the cold, back pressed against the cool tiles. Water poured down his spine a moment later, and then Fancy’s hands were on him; turning Turin to face the wall, as he skated his palms down over his ribs, over his hips, until they clutched possessively at Turin’s thighs. The killjoy pressed against his back, and Fancy’s mouth licked and sucked a line from his collarbone to his jaw.

“Not- not complaining, but this doesn’t seem to be an effective way to get clean-_ohh, fuck_!” Turin moaned, hips moving back into Fancy’s hand as the killjoy fucked his finger deeper into Turin. Turin clutched his forearm, mouth falling open in a silent curse.

“It’s not about getting clean.” Purred the killjoy, as he worked another lubed finger into the smaller man’s hole.

His thrusts were slow and teasing, fingertips skating around the nerve bundle until Turin was cursing from it; hot, naked killjoy pressed up against his back, the shower wetting their hair as he was teased ruthlessly.

“You best be finishing what you start.” Turin growled when those fingers suddenly disappeared, just as his body was finally starting to stand up and take notice. But the killjoy stepped back, out of the shower, and stood by the sink.

“Try not to take too long. Dinner is nearly ready.” The door chimed as it opened, and naked as the day he was born, Fancy stepped out.

Turin gaped after him.

“I will bring you clean clothes.” Called Fancy from around the corner, just before the door closed.

~*~

Clean clothes had been very vague, apparently. Since despite what Fancy had said, Turin was relatively sure he did smell- they all did, down in Old Town. Even with decon showers every ten feet, there was just something about the way the air smelled- Turin took the time to wash his hair, and slide soap over his skin. There were many new marks dappling his pale skin, marks from Fancy’s fingers, from his mouth. Turin was surprised at how much he liked them. The sight of the little bruises brought an odd satisfaction blooming in his chest; he was quick to shove it away, ignore the lingering heat in his veins.

_You’re just paid entertainment. Don’t forget that._

And honestly, paid entertainment made the _clothes_ Fancy had left him make a lot more sense.

He had stepped out of the shower to find a long, green-blue dress handing on a hook by the sink. With it was a pair of towels, and what looked like a one-shoulder cape or shawl. The material was fine, soft. It smelled of clean laundry, and a hint of perfume. Despite himself, Turin had lifted the towels, looking for the clothing he’d brought with him.

Fancy had removed his clothing.

With a sigh, Turin dried his hair, twisting it up in a towel as he took the dress off the hanger.

_Wait a minute_.

“Where’s my underwear?” hissed Turin, spinning around.

Everything was gone, of course he’d already looked.

_The fucker_.

So that was his game.

_Fancy Lee you are one very kinky man. _

If this was what his…_client_, wanted him to wear, then Turin would wear it. He never had been the type to flinch first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a huuuuge chance I'll bump the chapter count again because im just leaning into the self indulgence in this.


	4. dinner for two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turin and Fancy sit down for a surprisingly normal dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's nearly 3am and this may not make sense but it was driving me insane not to work on it a little bit. I can't seem to escape my family lately, long enough to write.

* * *

* * *

The dress wasn’t so bad. It had an uneven hem, hanging to his midcalf at the lowest point, and sliding up to his knee at the highest. There was a slit nearly to his hip- risky-so he was able to take a full stride and the fabric was soft. It was a wrap-dress, synched at his waist with a silver buckle, the neckline was a scoop, two large ornate buttons on his left shoulder, and two more at his right hip to fasten the little cape. Turin admired the sharpness of it in the bathroom’s small mirror, admiring the way the mustard yellow cape looked against the deep blue green.

He wasn’t certain _why_ Fancy had it, since it certainly wasn’t his size, but the fit was good and the colours were flattering. It didn’t make him look pasty and sickly in the ship lights, and his red hair looked vivid next to the vibrant colours, the greys streaking it fading from immediate view. The colours didn’t wash him out, or make his skin look sallow; Turin arched his brows, grudgingly impressed. He couldn’t have picked a better combo if he’d been given a choice. The fact that he _hadn’t_ didn’t escape his notice, but it was still good.

A soft knock on the door.

“Are you ready?” Fancy asked, voice slightly muffled. Turin looked himself over one last time.

“I guess so.”

The sleek door, which he now noticed had a mirrored shine and let him see himself easily, slid away, revealing Fancy.

The killjoy had also changed.

He wore an ornate jacket, asymmetrical zipper hanging undone, the dark fabric of his shirt clinging to his tight stomach. Turin dragged his eyes away reluctantly, taking in the outfit properly; it was deep purple in the ship lights, not leather but a denser canvas. It was the only colour in his otherwise dark outfit, although he noticed that Fancy too, was barefoot.

The ship was warm, warmer then it had been when they arrived. Nervously, Turin plucked at the half-shawl, settling it more firmly to cover his shoulder. He wasn’t cold, but he felt off balanced an exposed, the soft fabric of the dress clinging to his skin.

The first step made him aware of _exactly_ how naked he was underneath it, but it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable. At least his bare ass wasn’t in danger of resting on anything, with the length a modest knee length. Although again, that slit made walking without flashing the Killjoy a chore.

There was nothing in Fancy’s expression to suggest he’d chosen the outfit to humiliate or embarrass him. He smiled slowly, eyes sliding up and down Turin’s body, and extended a hand to him, which he took. What else was he supposed to do? He was flying blind.

“I thought the colour would suit you.” Said the killjoy, as he led Turin down the narrow hallway to the kitchen of the ship. A small, two person table was built against the wall, with a pair of bench seats rather then chairs. The entire thing looked like it could be unlatched, and folded into the wall.

Fancy gestured to the second seat, and turned his back to him. The small kitchen was filled with the smells of good cooking, and Turin’s stomach growled at it.

The Killjoy flashed him a grin over his shoulder, turning to bring over two full plates. Two glasses of hock were already on the table.

_Damn it_. Hesitance wasn’t like him. Turin squared his chin, and sat down, only remembering about the high slit when the side of his dress slid open to bare his leg from hip to ankle. He reached for it, but Fancy’s hand brushed the back of his wrist.

“No, leave it. It- it looks good.” His hand lingered, fingers warm and pleasant.

Was- was he _blushing_? Turin’s face felt suspiciously hot.

_Get a hold of yourself! You’ve already fucked him_. What was this beauty and the beast nonsense about, treating him like some backwater Lithe virgin, being seduced by Qreshi royals? Fancy didn’t need to wine and dine him, he _owned_ Turin for the next two days.

Regardless, Turin couldn’t quite push down the tension in his stomach, suspiciously like pleasure.

He folded a napkin in his lap, and lifted his silverware. The killjoy watched the gesture with a peculiar expression, and Turin muttered, defensively. “My dick is getting cold, you didn’t leave any thrice damned underwear.”

A twinkle in his dining companion’s eye, although his face remained passive. Fancy waited until Turin had started his meal, mouth full, before replying.

“That was intentional. I’m looking forward to bending you over this table- after dinner, of course.” He added innocently, as if the idea of a meal interrupted had been why Turin had choked on his greens, and coughed into his hand with a muffled curse.

Oh, he was definitely blushing now, face flaming as he bend over his meal.

Turin, surprisingly, didn’t hate the thought.


End file.
